


A Deal with the Devil

by lakeghost



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood Drinking, Bureaucracy, Department of Domestic Defence, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Episode: s05e06 The Last Broadcast, Exorcisms, Fix-It, Gen, Ghosts, Internal Conflict, M/M, Restraints, Slow Build, Surprisingly Domestic, Vampires, Werewolves, divergent canon, my emotionally repressed boys, obvs, sad ghost, the Devil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-08 11:59:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakeghost/pseuds/lakeghost
Summary: Hal would never have agreed to go through with the Devil-killing ritual - he's far too self-centered.In a reversal of roles, our man in grey finds himself tied to a chair in a haunted house. Alas, his only company is the Devil and a moody vampire with a bit of a god complex.





	1. Chapter 1

Somehow, in the midst of it all, the three found themselves scattered across the floor of the dining room, reeling in shock, as the furious smoke rushed over their heads. Alex was running through her options – to be perfectly honest, this all still seemed like a bit of a dream. She could try and drag Tom out the kitchen while that bastard bureaucrat was busy getting repossessed – if he was still alive. They could probably get out of the city by the time he killed Hal, or talked him into raining hell down on humanity. It was 50-50 at this point. She crawled over to Tom who was just now blinking back to consciousness, cowering under the buzzing, hissing smoke just above. 

When their eyes locked, Alex jerked her head toward the door, pleading silently, but she saw the resolute expression fixed on Tom’s face. Of course he wouldn’t run. Dumb idiot had a chance to fight the devil, and considering that he had zero qualms over blowing himself up to kill a few crusty old vampires, cowardice wouldn’t have even crossed his mind. 

“The ritual!” Tom yelled, pulling one of the vials from the belt around his torso. He recognized the fear in Alex’s eyes and continued, quieter “What other choice do we have?” 

“Run?” She intended to deadpan, but her voice was high-pitched and frantic. Before she could continue Tom had lurched over to face Hal, now alert and scattered-looking. 

Alex could barely hear what he said over the din of the force rushing around the room, but the response was crystal clear. 

“Absolutely fucking not!” 

“Come on mate, you said it yourself, it’s the apocalypse, you just hafta-“ 

“I’m not dying for this!” Hal hissed. 

Alex yelped loudly, and the duo turned to see the cause. The dark form was tightly circling the ghost, and had just passed through her shoulder. Alex was speechless, terrified. The noise from the creature reached a fever pitch and it spiraled toward the ceiling. 

“It’s looking for a new host; ghosts don’t make very comfortable accommodations,” Hal quipped. “It needs a human body.” 

Tom had pulled Alex toward himself and handed her a stake, just to feel a bit less awful. “There’s a whole neighborhood outside! How are we gonna catch him?” 

“Half the city ran off in a panic or is cowering under couches, it’s probably weighing its options.” The vampire’s eyes tracked the screaming shape as it tore apart the room. Only seconds had passed, but time had come to a meager crawl in the room. 

Alex came to her senses, yelling, “Jesus! Then let’s get out there and find the guy before he does!” She hopped up to a crouch. Tom nodded. 

“I’m guessin’ he’ll go for the closest person, so we’ll get him right as he jumps back in.” He glanced over at the limp form of the man in the grey suit. “Looks like we have one less person to worry about.” 

“He’s not dead.” Tom frowned at the tone of Hal’s voice. 

“Course he is. Look at ‘im.” Tom gestured for emphasis. 

The sound rushed out of the room as the creature moved to the second story, shifting into a more muffled cacophony. They all stood in the momentary quiet and approached the body. 

“His heart’s still beating,” Hal said as a sly grin spread across his face. Despite the situation, Alex couldn’t help but groan in disgust. 

Tom looked up at the others, searching. “So?” 

“If our friend here,” Hal stated as he nudged the body with his shoe, “can get the Devil’s attention, I think we may have an amicable solution.” 

Tom looked at Alex, hoping for guidance, who herself had her hands over her face, quietly muttering curses. He glanced again at the man on the floor, whose eyelids had begun to flutter slightly, and at the man wearing his friend’s face. He nodded grimly. 

“Fine then.” 

***

Dominic Rook opened his eyes incrementally. His sight was foggy and there was a splitting pain between his temples. As his senses returned, he became aware of the pain throughout his body, concentrated in his left forearm. 

He sorted through his memory, trying to piece together a story. He was in the television studio, he took his shot at Hatch; he remembered the halo of blood on the set behind him clearly. After, he recalled walking to a house, somewhere, but something was off. The memory felt like it was coming from underwater. Without moving his neck – his entire body felt made of lead – he scanned his surroundings. It seemed residential… and tacky. 

Rook attempted a deep breath. He had been drugged and taken hostage by rogue supernaturals. It was a working theory, but it gave him a familiar framework to work with. Whatever the state of his department now, his training was a part of him. 

Again, the man looked across the room. Despite the dodgy décor, it seemed otherwise unremarkable. With a downward glance, he saw that he was restrained – strapped into wood chair, itself bolted in place. As he worked through his options for escape, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. 

The sun was low, breaking through the blinds behind him in stripes through the room. With the overhead lights off, the shadows around the furniture seemed to flicker and shift. 

“Hello?” He was well aware that he was at a disadvantage here, poorly informed about his situation, but spoke clearly with distinction. “I believe I should speak with the owner of the house. There seems to have been a – ” he paused. _A what? _“A rather complicated situation recently, and I think we would all do well to sort through the details.”__

____

____

He listened for a response. The house was dead silent, but the eerie feeling remained. He decided that he would give himself several seconds to experience the panic he had been subduing thusfar, but as he gritted his teeth he felt a cold prickle along his arm. He shivered. Must be a draft. 

It was dawn the next day, practically still dark, when Rook heard the door to his right rattle as someone fidgeted with the lock. A young man crept in, glancing first up the nearby flight of stairs then fixing his attention on something to his right. He was whispering urgently, motioning to the room where Rook found himself captive. Suddenly he turned to approach the living room. 

He hesitated a moment before cautiously pulling up a barstool to sit facing Rook. As he cleared his throat to speak, Rook recognized the face, the scars along his head. 

“Mr. McNair, yes?” he queried, maintaining his desperate professionalism. 

The young man nodded. “McNair’s my dad. Tom,” he stated by way of introduction. He began to extend a hand and quickly retracted it as he caught himself. “I can’t stay long. Alex said you woke up a few hours back, sorry I couldn’t’a got here sooner. How’s your arm?” His eyebrows were deeply furrowed, almost comically so, but Rook couldn’t ignore the sadness in his face. 

“The arm’s fine, I assure you. It would be better if I could get to a hospital and make a few phone calls.” Tom frowned. Rook’s eye twitched. 

“Would you care to explain why I’m tied to this chair? I won’t attempt to lie about the confrontation with the entity I’ve been led to believe is the Christian devil. From what I remember, you and your housemate…” he trailed off, racking his still-foggy brain. 

“Hal,” Tom offered, tone icy. 

“Yes, Hal. You both were present when I killed his human form, but I’m afraid I have some localized amnesia between then and now.” He stared expectantly at his captor. 

“It’s probably better that you’re a bit foggy. And I think your arm’ll be okay. I set it best I could and the swelling’s gone down a lot since yesterday.” Rook continued to glare at the young man. 

Tom huffed. “Yeah, you shot the Devil, that black, angry stuff came out of ‘im, and then you showed up here possessed and all, and then we fought ya, and then Hal broke your arm since you were unconscious.” He met Rook’s stare and tacked on, “Sorry about that.” 

Rook bit his tongue to stop from saying that’s absurd. He thought about all the inexplicable things tucked away in the Archive and replied, “Understood. Why am I being held hostage, then? The devil is dead, the world is safe and shiny again; as I see it, my job is done.” 

“It’s not you we’re keepin’ hostage, mate.” Rook watched as he struggled to put together his next sentence. “The uh, the black stuff, the devil I guess, went back into you and didn’t leave. Hal said it was gettin’ weaker, and needed a body, so it just flew back in and got stuck or sommat.” He went on, earnestly, “I know I didn’t like you much, but you don’t deserve this, you was just doin’ your job after all.” 

It was Rook’s turn to frown. “I must have misunderstood you. I though you said – “ 

Just then Tom jumped in his seat and turned to his left. He nodded and said, “Got it. Just uh, go keep an eye on him just in case. I’m just leavin’.” Tom returned to look back at a perplexed Rook. 

“Sorry, forget you can’t see. That was just Alex. She’ll probably be around for a while, even though – never mind.” He shook his head. “Like I said, I’m not stayin’ here. I don’t want to abandon you but it’s not just you in there right now. This is the best place for you to be, I think. Everybody is safer this way.” 

“It sounds like you’re speaking about me in the past tense, Tom. If you just let me out, we can find a solution together.” Even to his own ears, the bargain just sounded like pleading. 

Tom shook his head. “I don’t know for sure which one of ya’s is talking. I just wanted to talk to you first before – well before anything else, just so you know it’s not your fault. Greater good and all that.” 

Rook began to launch into a tirade but Tom just clapped his hand on the thin man’s shoulder and gave a grim nod of assurance before turning to leave. 

He felt a cool pressure in the same place for a moment before the house returned to stillness. 

***

“Good morning, Dominic!” 

Rook was startled awake to see a familiar Type 2 – Hal, if he wasn’t mistaken – lounging on the couch in front of him, smiling in his direction. 

Rook tried to gauge the time but quickly abandoned the task. 

“Good morning,” he replied tersely, “May I leave?” He gestured to his bound state with his chin. 

The Type 2 laughed and Rook felt a quiet dread collecting in his chest. The man uncrossed his legs and removed them from the coffee table in a single, graceful movement. “I’m afraid not. I thought Tom explained all this to you yesterday?” He shook his head and picked up a glass of water from the mantle. “No matter. You’re here until I find a way to kill the smug bastard living in your head. I got a rise out of him last night but it seems to have taken a lot out of you.” 

He paused and extended the glass to Rook. He pointedly tugged his good arm against the restraint. _What kind of joke was this?_

__The vampire rolled his eyes and pulled a hunting knife from his boot. He scoffed when Rook recoiled slightly then moved in to sever the leather binding his left arm to the chair. He offered the water again._ _

__Rook had surpassed the state of “fed up” about twenty-four hours ago, but maintained a cool head. “That arm’s broken; I can’t move it.”_ _

__The vampire shrugged and set the glass on the end of the chair’s left arm, centimeters from Rook’s fingertips. “Your choice. Sit comfortably and die of thirst or don’t.” He waited a moment, looking at Rook with childish anticipation. When the man didn’t budge, he continued._ _

__“Unfortunately, I can’t just kill you. He’d get out, find another meat sack, and a hundred years from now it’ll be this mess all over again, which, frankly, I just don’t have the patience for.” He leaned back on the arm of the couch and toyed with the blade in his hands. “So here I am, finally in the state of mind to really live my life, am I’m stuck trying to puzzle out what to do with the both of you. You, dear Dominic, are easy enough: keep you from getting sick, some food and water – just like a gerbil.”_ _

__He barked a laugh, then was behind Rook in an instant. He locked his back into the chair with one hand pressed flat to Rook’s chest, while the other slowly brought the glinting knife to rest below the man’s chin. “But _you _,” he hissed softly, “are going to be a challenge.” Rook remained stock still and focused on the alluring pressure of the blade on his throat._ _ __

__

__

___Do it, _something inside him whispered. _What choice do you have? _Rook blinked. Self-termination wasn’t off the table, and considering the events of the past several days, it seemed perversely enticing. But he had an itching sense that this thought was not his own. “No,” he chided himself.____ _ _

___The grip around him tightened. “What’s that, pet? Not going to let me speak with your cohabitator?” He felt the Type 2’s chilled breath across the nape of his neck. The intensity of the moment began to flood through Rook’s senses all at once; he felt his heart lurch as the ambient sound in the room swelled and started to go red at the edges._ _ _

___Outside himself, he felt his body sharply heave forward, throwing into the knife._ _ _

___On the other side of the instant, Rook came back to himself, shocked. The vampire was again standing opposite the chair, blade in hand, chuckling to himself._ _ _

___“Nearly got me there, old man.” He pointed toward the dazed Rook with the blade, clean save for a thin ribbon of red at the end. “Didn’t consider that one. It seems poor Dom here didn’t either.”_ _ _

___It was disturbing enough to listen to this maniac converse with some entity supposedly roosting inside him, Rook thought. He seemed to be talking to himself half the time. He watched in revulsion as the man licked off the bloodied edge of the knife and returned it to its sheath._ _ _

___“I think that’s my cue to leave, then.” He sat up and inspected the floor around the chair. Rook seemed to be surrounded by a thick ring of ice melt and table salt. He closed his eyes. _Superstitious bunch, vampires, _he sighed internally. He heard his personal keeper grab his coat and keys.___ _ _

___“I’ll be back in a few hours. Hopefully that gives the both of you time to think about your options.” The door banged closed._ _ _

___Rook opened his eyes, feeling blunt in every sense of the word._ _ _

___He reached and grasped the glass balanced precariously on the arm and yelped a pitiful sound. The throbbing ache became a hot dagger through his arm, flashing white in the backs of his eyes. His eyes watered but he maintained his grip and brought the glass to his mouth. He felt the bone shift under the straining, burning muscle as he desperately gulped at the tepid water, spilling much of it in his precarious position._ _ _

___He couldn’t fathom repeating the movement in reverse and so relaxed his body, dropping the cup to the floor in a hollow clatter and his arm to his lap in a sickly thud._ _ _

___Devil or not, he was going to survive this trial._ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

Rook’s injuries and lack of food had started to take their toll. His mouth felt sandy and his eyes itched no matter how many times he blinked. He could still feel his arm – though he wished he couldn’t – which seemed like a good sign. By the angle of the light behind him, Rook estimated it to be near six in the evening. 

He frowned. He could only remember an hour or two of the day. Of course, this could just be the result of dehydration and boredom, but if he was to agree with his captor’s diagnosis, his missing day could have been experienced by the other dark entity living in him.  


It was ridiculous. He was going mad tied to chair in a themed B and B, and the real demon was strolling about the streets, due home any minute. It seemed like appeals to logic weren’t going to convince the Type 2 to release him, and perhaps this was for the best. Without the leverage of being a demonic vessel, he was as good as dead. He considered attempting a negotiation with the resident Type 1. He occasionally sensed something moving in the room, and once thought he glimpsed a young woman in the small mirror hanging at the back of the bar. Rook knew this woman had been the victim of vampire politics, blood harvested and left to rot in a club basement. Unfortunately, he knew little else about the circumstances of her death and doubted he would be able to use this information for emotional leverage. He decided this was plan B, though he didn’t yet have a plan A. Rook huffed a sigh and continued sifting through his options.

It wasn’t long until the man heard a familiar jangling of keys and the outer door to the house clatter open. He had conceived of a plan that would satisfy both the devil-elimination and safe escape requirements of his situation. He readied himself to beg his case but was surprised when two unfamiliar faces stumbled into the entryway. It was a man and a woman, both seemingly in their mid thirties, well-dressed and visibly intoxicated. Time for a new plan.  
“Help!” He shrieked. “Please, help!”  


The pair turned quickly and gaped at the scene in the living room. The woman yelped but immediately ran as best as she could to the chair and started fiddling with the straps. The man was silent and glanced over his shoulder with wide eyes to see Hal closing the door behind himself.  


“What the hell?”  


“It’s just a game he plays. He’s very committed to the scene.” He kept his tone light but Rook could see his posture shift to something more predatory. The man seemed dubious, but clearly wasn’t currently in possession of all his faculties.  


“I dunno what’s goin' on here but I think Jem and me should leave, yeah? Swear we won’t talk none if you don’t want.”  


Before Hal could reply, Rook shouted again, putting on his best hysterical impression, “He wants to kill me! There’s a knife in his boot, please!”  


Jem was frantic, trying to use her house key to saw at the leather. The unnamed man took no action, then was suddenly reeling backward into the door grasping at his throat.  


Evidently, Hal had thrown his elbow into the man’s windpipe, and now grabbed the decorative key bowl from beside himself and brought it down swiftly on the gasping man. His legs went limp and he collapsed.  


Jem remained focused on the task hand, despite the attack.  


“Run!” Rook hissed. “Don’t be a bloody hero!”  


She didn’t have time to react before Hal yanked her to standing by her hair. He clasped a hand tightly over her face and held her torso with his opposite arm. As the woman flailed wildly, scratching at his face, Hal addressed Rook calmly.  


“That was pathetic, even for you.”  


Rook couldn’t look away from the eyes of the woman as they rolled and bulged, looking for a sliver of hope.  


“What, precisely, were you hoping to accomplish?” he continued, unaffected by the struggle under his arms. “It’s not as though the police are going to come rushing to help.”  


Finally, almost blissfully, Jem’s eyes slid back in her head and her body went limp. Hal dropped the dead weight and Rook looked up to meet his eyes.  


“Who are your houseguests?” Hal took the non sequitur in stride.  


“The esteemed Jem and Hank … something. I’ll check their wallets after they get taken care of.”  


“You’re fucking sick.” Rook knew he should play to his opponent’s ego, strike a deal, etc, etc, but he couldn’t stop himself from dropping the façade. His department was dead, what good was he doing anyway? He spat at Hal’s shoes.  


Hal gasped in mock astonishment. “Why, Mr. Rook, I can’t believe this! I’ll have you know that this lovely couple came to me looking for a third to join them for the night. They thought the marriage was getting a bit stale, I figured I would help. Granted, this likely wasn’t quite what they expected.” He gripped the woman’s wrists and began dragging her across the floor toward the stairs. Rook looked down at his shoes, somewhere between seething rage and breaking down to tears.  


Hal paused dragging the body, almost as though he was expecting Rook to protest. He didn’t.  


He listened with his eyes closed as the Type 2 dragged both humans into the basement, and tried to count down from a thousand while more muffled noise came from below.

At some point, Hal emerged from the kitchen with a tray of teas and sandwiches; Rook was reminded of how hungry he was. When the vampire disappeared down the stairs without so much as a glance in his direction, Rook felt his heart sink.

Much to his surprise, Hal reentered the room minutes later, tray in hand. He flopped less than gracefully onto the chair facing Rook. He brought one of the mugs from the tray to his mouth and gazed over the rim expectantly.  


Rook felt like he was being bribed, but unsure as to what end.  


“I take it disposing of the bodies worked up an appetite?” He sneered.  


Hal laughed. _God he was pretty when he smiled. _  
__

___What? _The Devil and dehydration had clearly turned his brain to mush. He was parsing this bizarre intrusive thought when Hal replied, “Quite the opposite. The Bradburys seemed very comfortable with their new living arrangements. I just brought them dinner, and they provided mine.” He raised his mug in a half toast. “Everybody’s happy. I thought you’d appreciate that.”  
__ _ _

___Rook was genuinely surprised, but refused to show it. From what he had read, this particular Type 2 tended to live in extremes – brutal excess or tenuous good behavior. The reasonable temperance demonstrated by this blood gimp scheme was a new development. He gave it three days before it broke bad. He wasn’t sure he’d last another three days.  
_ _ _

___“We should attempt an exorcism. When executed properly, it’s been known to dissipate or otherwise incapacitate aggressive Type 1s, and there is some evidence to show the ritual can have a weakening effect on demons and their offspring.”_ _ _

___The evidence was pitifully weak. There were remarkably few Type 5s registered by the DoDD to begin with, and the study of their weaknesses and that of their rumored parents was a slapdash mixture of anecdote and conjecture.  
_ _ _

___“You don’t sound so sure, Dom.” With that self-satisfied smile again on his lips, the vampire took another sip from his mug.  
_ _ _

___Rook felt his temper boiling in his chest, the heat along his shoulders and the pressure in his skull. _What the hell was he even doing in this chair? In this house?_ His old life was utterly gone now, every aspect of his motivation and morality a shredded file in a bin somewhere. And now he’s chatting with vampires and devils in this carpeted purgatory, spiraling down to nowhere while he dies slowly of malnutrition. As his anger built to a frothing crest, he opened his eyes to see the room glazed in sickly, dripping red for a moment before everything went dark.___

_____ _

He awoke propped up in one of the living room chairs with a very sad looking sandwich on a plate in his lap. He blinked and tried to organize all the time in his head, but food was much simpler and he found himself tearing into the bread.  


“Based on the conversation I just had with you-know-who, I now agree that a good old-fashioned exorcism sounds like a grand idea.” Rook almost choked when the voice started behind him.  


“Hm?”  
Hal handed him a glass and he gladly drained the water before meeting the man’s eyes.  


“It seems that letting his vessel weaken has done nothing to confuse or damage him. Perhaps through this process he’ll flee your body and disperse into the ether, not concentrated enough to attack again directly.”  


Rook suddenly felt sick, either from his sudden food intake or the thought that he would be of no use to Hal if the ritual was a success. He shook his head. At this point, it was wisest to take things hour by hour.  


Hal sat on the couch and looked Rook up and down. “You look like hell,” he deadpanned.  


Rook chose not to give him the dignity of even an eye roll.  


“You said that an exorcism needed to be performed ‘properly’ to have a chance at working. How about you tell me what I need to get for this and I let you go freshen up?”  


“Let me?”  


“You didn’t think your liberation was permanent, did you?”  


“Firstly, it’s not a ‘what’ but a ‘who’. Though plenty of priests will go through a series of motions, few have successfully removed a spirit of any kind.”  


“I take it that you and your men in grey have a recommendation?”  


“As you may do well to remember, my organization is now defunct, and can no longer provide assistance to you, your kind, or any unfortunate humans who cross your path.” Hal stifled a laugh at his renewed professional tone, then gestured for Rook to continue. He righted his shoulders and went on, “However, we are aware of a religious extremist group that went underground several years ago, following the events of the Box Tunnel Massacre. They were headquartered in Bristol, and several lower-ranking members are known to be living in the area.”  


Hal nodded. “I’m aware.”  


“If you ask around for anyone who knew a Dr. Jaggat, you should be able to find someone who can assist you.”  


“So you’re proposing I speak to every breathing person waving a cross around until I discover the dregs of this cult?”  


“Of course not.” Rook held out his empty plate. “I’ll give you a list of last known addresses in exchange for not starving to death.” He smiled sweetly.  
Hal chuckled despite himself and cracked an easy grin. He stood and took the plate to the kitchen.

***  


Rook struggled to pull a shirt over his head with his good arm. After his shower, a bottle of aspirin and wrist brace had appeared on the bath mat. He surprised himself with a smile. Alex must have stopped by. His face dropped when he considered she probably watched him bathe too.  
He scrubbed at his skin under the hot water until it was a furious pink. He winced when the assorted scratches along his body reopened and started to ooze blood. Now he stood draped in clothing much too large for his frame, including an ungodly pair of cargo pants. His suit was in shambles, laying crumpled beside the shower curtain and reminding him of the role he had shed along with the garment.  


He had given Hal a list of three former members of CenSSA and as much of the addresses as he could remember before he left. The door was braced shut, and Hal must have trusted he wouldn’t attempt to jump from the second floor. His drive to escape seemed to have washed down the drain with the grime, but that itching voice in his head was telling him to throw his body at the door or break through the window. This entity was clawing away at his patience, desperate to run and scream regardless of the damage it would do to his body. Rook felt like he was losing his mind.  


“Alex?” He cleared his throat. He waited a few seconds. “Alex?” he repeated louder. He decided to keep talking even if no one was around.  


“Could you let me out? I won’t run.”  


He looked around the little room and noticed words appearing on the steamy mirror, as though drawn by a finger.  
“NO”  


“I’m sure Hal told you about what’s happening. You know about my department, know that it’s gone. Where would I run off to?” he waited, and began to think maybe she had left.  


Stroke by stroke, another message appeared on the mirror. “Devil”  


Classic a mode of spectral communication though it was, mirror steam left something to be desired when it came to eloquence.  


Rook decided to concede. “Well, thank you for the brace and painkillers.”  


He watched a smiley face appear on the remaining mirror real estate.  


“I hate to ask, but seeing as I will be in the room for the better part of the day, could you possibly find me something to read?” He thought he could hear an exasperated sigh coming from behind his right shoulder.  


A few minutes later, a dense paperback appeared in the air before him and dropped to the floor. He stepped forward to grab it. “Thank you, Alex.”  


He flipped it over to reveal some Dostoevsky nonsense. He never had much of a taste for Russian literature. Much too much quibbling over ethics and political melodrama. Brooding, aristocratic protagonists were a bit of a bore. He briefly considered his imprisoner and revised his statement. Sometimes a Byronic hero had his appeal.  


He sat down and settled his back against the still-warm shower door. He had some time to kill.

***  


The ritual failed.  


Rook wished he could remember more, but soon after the priest began speaking, his memory slipped into a bleary dream.  


Someone scattered holy water on his skin and the droplets burned like hot pins. The room went that thick red again and he recalled throwing himself against his restraints.  


The chanting continued, and there was smoke all around him – from the ritual or his body he didn’t know. He could hear Hal yelling at the man performing the exorcism, and for moment, there was a reprieve from the pain. Without warning he felt something writhe to life below his ribs and gasped as air fled his lungs.  
He felt he heart picking up speed, stumbling over itself as it fought to sustain life. He heard a voice – his own, probably – whisper “Please – please stop”.  
There was angry growling, distorted as he heard it when he felt a wet heat begin to trickle from his ears. Moments later, he felt an overwhelming burn and the same coppery slick began to seep from his eyes. He was in and out of consciousness at this point, allowing his body to ragdoll against the lurching movements at his core.  


When a thick crunching sound split the room, Rook felt the tension melt away, and lost his grip entirely.

***

A shrill screaming from the floor above woke Rook. He knew the source all too soon.  
“Glad you made it.”  


Rook searched the room for the source of the voice, landing near a small pile of magazines on the bar. He tried to stand then remembered his ankle was still cuffed to one of the bolted down fixtures by that damn chair. He watched the magazine flip several pages before wincing his eyes closed at the sound of another scream. He opened them to see a hand pressing the magazine pages flat, a hand connected to a young woman in a bulky leather jacket and fluttery green dress.  


“Why do I even bother? You can’t hear me, and he acts like I’m not here most of the time.” Rook saw the figure knock the magazines off the surface and throw her hands up. “And I can’t even see me brothers without going fuzzy at the edges and feeling sick! Fuck!”  


“Pardon?” Rook finally escaped his speechlessness.  


“You can see me?” Alex stood and approached the sitting man, waving her arms like she was trying to signal a plane.  


“It would seem so.”  


“Could you see me, um, before?” she said guiltily.  


“This is the first time. Perhaps I danced a little too close to death’s door.  


“Death’s too much of a bitch to be that generous.” Alex sat down on the floor across from Rook. “I think the Devil just wants company.” She grinned playfully, but her eyes didn’t change.  


“I think he got that wish.” Rook glanced upward to indicate the chaos unfolding upstairs.  


“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Alex tucked her legs under herself and pulled her jacket tighter across body. “That’s the third person he’s dragged back here. At least she was having a good time up until now. The first guy barely made it past the threshold.” She gestured her heard toward a shadowed body laying under the coat-rack. The pieces of it, at least. Rook felt bile rise in the back of his throat.  


“Why are you still here?” He wished he had his own answer to the question.  


“I’m stuck. Anchored to this place. You wouldn’t believe how much I want to leave.”  
The noise upstairs had stopped and Rook could hear his own lonely breathing.  


“I thought Type 1s could be tethered to either locations or individuals, no?”  


“Huh?”  


“Excuse me, ghosts.”  


“Gotcha. Well, maybe that’s true, but if that’s the case it’s either the sicko upstairs or the vampire who killed me, but he sort of melted over by the couch.” She pointed for emphasis.  


Rook was rapidly running out of conversation points.  


“Aren’t there…portals? Out of this?” He gestured vaguely.  


“D’ya mean doors? Sure, but hell if I know what I need to do to get one. I feel like I’m just…floating. There’s all this time stretched out in front of me and nothing worth a damn to fill it with.”  


Rook nodded. _Truer words… _  
__

__“The ghost rules suck.” Alex went quiet. “I’m sorry the whole exorcism or whatever didn’t work.”  
_ _

__“Mm” Rook agreed, noncommittally.  
_ _

__“It seemed stuck to you. Somethin' about you makes a real cozy house.”  
_ _

__“Just a shell waiting to be filled up with evil,” he scoffed.  
_ _

__“You know that’s not what I meant.” Her voice held some doubt. “But hey, if it makes you feel better, Hal cut it off before it killed you.” Her eyes flicked against her will to the crumpled body tucked under the coffee table.__  
Rook recognized the carnage surrounding him and sighed. “Sure.” He looked down at his restraints.  


__“I mean it. He’s got more than just a screw loose, and as far as I’ve seen, maintains a truly psychopathic degree of dissociation from reality. He just had a chance to take a swing at the bloody Devil, but called it off to save the life of a random shady government bureaucrat – no offense.”  
_ _

__“Offense very much taken,” he said, but eased a smile.  
_ _

__“Since he got back on the blood he’s been a fucking nightmare, but with you around – well, I still hate it, but it’s less terrible I guess.”__  
Rook looked back up from his bare feet but Alex was gone. “Alex?”  


__A mug flew of the table and slammed into the fireplace in response. He jumped. He’d let his guard unusually low. “Did I do something to offend you?”  
_ _

__A page of notebook paper covered in hastily scrawled ballpoint landed in his lap.__  
“Still here. Just radio silence from the human again.” Rook held the note delicately and look up at the empty-looking room.  
He swallowed nervously. 

__“Maybe you should visit Tom. Perhaps he could offer some … support.” He immediately regretted speaking. Who was he? Offering life advice to strangers? Dead strangers? He prepared to backtrack when he felt a cool form brush against his shoulder and rest there. He took it as nod in agreement and smiled to himself._ _

____

***

Maybe half an hour after he stopped being able to communicate with Alex, Hal fumbled down the stairs and appeared in the living room looking an absolute mess.  


Though he was wearing (very rumpled) trousers, his upper body was bare and coated with drying blood and viscera. Rook was taken aback but kept quiet.  
Hal groaned when he noticed Rook as though he just now remembered he was there. The Type 2 dug through the pockets of his hanging coat to find a small key, and wordlessly unlocked Rook’s makeshift manacle. His hands were firm and steady as he turned the key, a world of difference from Rook’s first impression of a shaking, nervous man. He moved to sprawl out on the couch and reclined as Rook stood unsteadily.  
He considered the door for a second.  


“Rook – do you believe in curses?” Hal asked. He eyes were half-closed and his words ever so slightly slurred.  
Rook realized this was the first time he had referred to him by his preferred last name. All this patronizing first-name nonsense had been getting on his nerve, but he now realized he almost missed it.  


The man sat on an adjacent chair carefully, hoping the vampire wouldn’t change his mind and tie him up again. “I suppose.”  


Hal opened one eye to glare at him. “You suppose? You’ve been possessed by the Devil, had a pretty pet werewolf for a spell. Why doubt?”  


Rook sighed. He really didn’t want to get into a debate of science versus magic or the nature of curses as related to self-fulfilling prophecy with a drunk vampire tonight. “It’s just not worth worrying about.”  


Hal sat up and looked at Rook quizzically. Now that he was closer, he realized his eye were still solid, inky black. He leaned forward. “What _is _worth worrying about?”  
__

____

Rook quickly became aware of the fact that nothing was keeping the creature in front of him from tearing him to pieces. He felt that he should be afraid, wary of the predator in his midst, but instead felt a sense of exhilaration, so close to something this deadly.  


"Dominic?” Rook realized he’d failed to respond.  


“One should be concerned about…” _About what? A job? A mission? _“About something they think is valuable.”  
__

____

Hal relaxed back into the couch. “The greater good? Ha! Look where that got us!” He brought his hand to his mouth and licked at the base of his thumb where a clot of blood had settled. Rook didn’t have the energy to be disgusted.  


He supposed they both had been blinded by their ideals at some point, dogmatically adhering to a set of rules to maintain a tight grip on some shoddy facsimile of humanity. Inevitably, it backfired, much to the detriment of those around them.  


“You’re drunk. You should sleep.” Was Rook’s brilliant response.  


“Could be drunker. You could help,” Hal said. He gave a rakish grin that showed his teeth.  


Rook raised an eyebrow.  


“Fine,” Hal huffed. “But you’re cleaning up this mess tomorrow.”  


He surveyed the crime scene surrounding them. “I get to survive the night? Devil and all? I’m honored.” He spoke in a jesting tone, but the words were genuine.  


“’Course you do,” mumbled the vampire. He seemed to be quickly losing his grip on consciousness.  


Rook felt an odd flutter in his chest. Something warm and delicate seemed to be taking root against his will. He distracted himself by mourning the couch’s upholstery; it was stained beyond repair at this point.  


He watched as the man drifted off, his chest rising and falling slower and slower until it stopped altogether. Rook pulled his knees up to his chest and held his gaze steady. The moon was large and heavy, and it fed faint light into the darkened room, illuminating the high planes across the man’s fair skin. In the dark, the bloody lacquer covering his form was nearly invisible.  


He considered his own earlier words: something valuable. The motionless form before him looked like an effigy on the tomb of someone who died centuries ago. Perhaps the man resting in that marble was someone to care about.


	3. Chapter 3

It could have been any of a thousand mornings for Dominic Rook. He rose before the sun, took a perfunctory shower, and got straight to work dragging mangled bodies off the carpet. The familiarity of the routine allowed him to put his brain on autopilot, thinking only of which cleaning solutions would be most appropriate.  
He decided to go with a retrofitted Scenario 21G: on-scene disposal, no outside contact. With a tarp he found folded in the back of the kitchen closet, the man slogged the remains into a single pile in the kitchen. His braced arm protested, but seemed to be healing rather quickly. After scouting out the property, there appeared to be a large planter on the back porch, half-full of dried-out perennial shrubs. Perfect.  


First order of business was removal of identification – wallets, phones, teeth, etc all went into a cereal bowl on the kitchen island, destined for the oven. Following was simply a matter of increasing the surface area of the remains and storing them in a hot, damp, environment to promote speedy decomp. It had been years since Rook had been up to his elbows in a chest cavity, and he remembered now why he was so eager to take a management role. Sure, he was tidying up nature’s messes either way, but it was a bit easier to believe when you didn’t have to soak everything you touched in bleach.  


By the time the planter had been neatly refilled and recovered in soil, the sky was beginning to blush shell pink and lilac. The old weeds and shrubbery had been gathered into a pile ready for a convenient fire.  


Back indoors, more work remained. Rook almost whistled to himself as he boiled water and mixed soapy water for a first pass at the carpets. He was surprised by the quantity of cleaning products under the sink – more gloves, scrubs, and upholstery cleaners than he had seen anywhere other than the Archive.  


He worked briskly and efficiently from the upstairs bedroom back to the kitchen, lost in the rhythm of the repetitive motions. He was doing battle with a particularly congealed patch of mess behind the front door when he heard a soft chuckle. Rook pretended not to notice and resumed scratching at the grout.  


“There’s something very satisfying about watching someone else do this.”  


Rook purposefully returned his rag to the bucket and sat back on his heels. He turned to face Hal with a slight huff.  


“I suppose having the Devil as a housemaid has its perks.” Rook, now intimately familiar with the brutality this man had inflicted on humanity, shuddered slightly as he looked up at the figure resting languidly against the wall. He wished he could blame it on the Devil when his eyes lingered on the soft curve of his jaw and the palest shadow below his lips.  


Hal flashed a grin. “Something like that.” He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward. “I’d like to step out for some fresh air, but I’ve noticed you’re currently very… not tied to anything. Tried to make a break for it in the night?”  


Rook pressed his eyebrows together. “You unlocked me last night, yes?”  


Hal paused, a million miles away, but only took a moment to recover his icy composure and continue, “Of course; I only meant to ask whether I needed to reassess your degree of bondage.” He smirked.  


“I have no doubt that if I tried to run I would be quickly hunted down and executed.” Rook didn’t have to pretend to sound disinterested. What could he run from anymore?  


Hal’s smile widened. “Right answer.”  


He moved to grab his coat and keys. As he opened the door he looked back at the man on his knees as if to make a final comment, but Rook had already returned to scrubbing, so he silently closed the door. 

***

Rook had lost more time today. Soon after the worst of the vampire’s bender had been scrubbed off the walls, the man opened his eyes to a different room and the knowledge it was late afternoon.  


_I should have known the world would end in a whimper. Notably, mine, _he thought. This was how darkness wins, then: slowly eating away at the edges until he stopped waking up as himself.  
__

__Hal didn’t seem too put off, but he seemed more distracted. He was pacing, genuinely pacing, when Rook regained consciousness. He sent him down to take care of the Bradburys, who he was surprised to learn had survived the night of the failed exorcism. Rook brought their pet humans some lunch and fresh water, and returned upstairs with a glass pitcher covered in a multi-color floral design and filled with approximately a liter of fresh blood. He really was just house staff at this point._ _

____

The evening was passed reading in opposite chairs. Neither had much to say, so each kept to their book and silence, uncomfortable as it was. The tension was shattered when something clattered into the front door, trying frantically at the knob.  


By the time Rook had registered the situation, Hal’s eyes were a glassy black and he was halfway to the door. Rook felt the same stirring as he had at the beginning of the ritual and felt slightly faint. His concern was validated when the young McNair crashed into the entryway mumbling a stream-of-consciousness explanation that may as well have been in Greek.  


Hal answered the intruder with an animal growl. “Out!” he ordered. Then he glanced out the open door into the dark and back at Tom with a renewed fury. “You’re here to kill me, aren’t you? Waiting until the one night you have half a chance! Fucking coward!” He lunged forward and pinned the young man’s throat to the wall with his forearm.  


Tom hissed out “I’m not here to kill you, you paranoid. I was plannin’ on the woods since Allison’s got a storage unit and that, but there was a bunch of folks out in tents and blankets everywhere lookin’ at the sky. Allison was excited before, said it was some cosmetological thing, I dunno – “  


“Cosmological” Rook corrected him as he paused to gasp a breath. Both supernaturals turned to look him in the eye. A flicker of a smile crossed Hal’s face. Tom coughed, still short on breath. “Sorry, continue.”  


“I need the cellar tonight, I promise I'll leave you alone, won’t say nothin’ after.” His eyes were wide and pleading. Rook knew him almost solely through his file, a ruthless vampire slayer who knew no life without the grip of the Type 3 affliction. But he looked like a young boy now, scared of what he might do if sent out into the night.  


Hal broke away from the stare and stepped back, giving Tom a firm shove into the wall. “Fine!” he strode over the Rook and dropped a set of keys in his hands followed by the handle of the knife that had nearly taken his life only days ago.  


“Unless you want the Bradburys to be kibble, you should probably find them a new room,” he said as he walked out and slammed the door.  


Tom gave a questioning look, quickly broken by a twisted grimace that reminded both of them of the urgency of the situation.  


“How long do we have?”  


“Maybe half an hour? I was runnin’ a good bit before I got here, I –“ He speech cut off abruptly as he doubled over. The scientist in Rook was fascinated at how he managed to be silent, even in the very beginning stages of the transformation. Was is a matter of the number of cycles his body had endured? The age at which he was infected? He was drawn out of his reverie when Tom all but pushed him down the stairs.  


The couple in the cellar had gotten used to the dark-eyed thing and thin gray man who stole their blood, but they were not expecting the well-built youth, who looked to be in some kind of agony, to stumble through the door. There was some frantic eye contact exchanges on all sides, then Jem starting screaming, a single high-pitched wail, and Hank began praying in a manic whisper.  


Tom was on his knees now, and they all heard the visceral crunch when his bones began to break. Jem was straining against the rope holding her to the radiator, and this amidst all the chaos was making freeing the captives incredibly difficult.  


His mouth spoke without consent, and Rook saw the room flood red, “Stop!”  


Tom, from behind his half-formed muzzle, whimpered and tried to edge away before launching into another round of organ failure. The Bradburys gripped each other but stayed still. He consciously guided his blade through the ropes, away from the potential victims in the room, with significant effort. Once the tie was severed, he held out the knife toward the unlucky couple and repeated Hal’s earlier command, “Out!”  


He bared his teeth into a smile at the sight of them stumbling up the stairs, confused and weak from blood loss, heads full of mad stories that no one would ever believe. The human part of his brain, the one painfully aware of the volatile werewolf situation, felt like it was shouting from underwater. It watched in relief when its body leaves the cellar and locks the reinforced door from the outside.  


His body sat at the top of the steps, listening to the excruciating sounds coming from below, reveling in that pain. When everything went silent for several minutes (Rook knows this is the result of the vocal cords having given out, but he doubts the Devil ever took the time to learn that) he can hear the front door open. It’s enough of a break in focus that he wrestles control of his body and throws himself into the wall. Then again, harder. Then again, forcing his body down the whole flight. To his relief, the room drops from sickly red to empty black.

He opens his eyes looking at the same door he just locked, leaned against a cool form that seems to be bent slightly away from him. Rook turns his head to the blank eyes of Jem Bradbury looking back at him over Hal’s shoulder.  


“Why do I even fucking try?” he mumbles, leaning onto the wall of the opposite side of the step. His whole body feels like a bruise.  


“Beg pardon?” His neighbor on the step sits up straight and wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve.  


The man remains silent. He’s beginning to envy the corpse.  


“I didn’t expect you to let them go – I thought your department followed a scorched earth policy when it came to witnesses.”  


“I’m not my – never mind.” The wood paneling had a musty smell that made his nose itch, but he didn’t move.  


“I let her husband go, I figured you had some plan letting them both run off into the night.” Rook looked over at Hal. Despite the nonchalance in his posture sprawled back on the steps, something in his voice betrayed a lack of confidence. Maybe he was tired of being the one with all the answers. Rook echoed the sentiment.  


“There’s been enough death lately.” He eyed the pale form slumped in the corner.  


“It comes with the territory. Surely you’ve learned that by now?”  


“My concern isn’t the loss of life, merely your flippancy in taking it.”  


“Is that what you tell yourself?” Hal looks at the crumpled frame beside him. This was the closest thing he’d ever known to a higher power, something that knew about the shadowy world he lived in and passed judgement, generally that humanity’s ignorance was to be valued above all else. “The difference between you and me is that I have the sense to not delude myself with grandiose morals.”  


The grey man stayed still.  


A pained howled reverberated through the stairwell. Rook winced slightly.  


With eerie timing Rook spoke. “This must seem like déjà vu of your years in Southend.” His voice was disinterested. Hal looked at him sharply.  


“And why is that?” he barked.  


The man offered a half-hearted shrug. “Your file mentions you lived with a Type 3 who took to passing the full moons indoors. It’s not important.”  
“It was different then.”  


“Sure it was,” Rook jabbed.  


“Whatever your ridiculous files say, whoever you think I am, is gone.” He said, voice raised. Rook gave no response. “That man was a fool. You can’t possibly understand that.”  


“Try me.”  


“I could say the same to you.” The verbal parrying seemed to lift some of the vampire’s foul mood.  


“The man I was before the Department is long dead. Over the past few days, I’ve come to see I have no interest is mourning him, or recreating him, for that matter.”  


Hal was speechless. The growling and snapping from the locked room was loud in the space around them.  
Rook continued. “But as things are with this … possession situation, I don’t know what I’m trying to be anymore. But it can’t be like it was before. Where I stand is simply not sustainable. And I think – I think you know the same to be true of yourself.” He didn’t have anything to lose at this point. Emotional vulnerability was fairly low on the pressing concerns list.  


Hal looked down and refused to speak. Rook smirked. “I didn’t know you still had nerves to hit.”

Minutes passed, listening to Tom trashing about in the cellar. It was getting cold.  


Out of nowhere, Hal broke in: “If you’re expecting me to apologize, then you’re even more of an imbecile than I thought.”  


Rook laughed. “I have no such illusions.” He thought a moment. “Though now that you mention it, why _did _you use me as a vessel? Why not just kill the beast?”  
__

____

“Well, it was a bit more complicated than just shooting at a big red man with horns. Any time blood magic or prophecy gets involved the rules go out the window, and I wasn’t about to die for that shit. The whole ritual could very well be bunk anyway. I’ve spent far too many years suffering to no end to believe that my own martyrdom would do the world any good.” His voice began to pick up with irritation.  


The Archive had records on some such rituals, but Rook agreed that it was mostly word of mouth and poorly reconstructed first-hand accounts. He was out of his depth and just barely treading water.  


“But why me? The first time made sense – I was nearby, had a familiar face – but why come back if it knew it wouldn’t be able to leave again? I would imagine a supernatural host would make for a more fortified residence.”  


“For all your precious esoteric knowledge, there’s surprisingly little about the man downstairs.”  


“He didn’t need a clean-up crew nearly as often as your lot. It wasn’t pertinent to learn his patterns.”  


Hal laughed humorlessly. “It needed a human host, so your suffering is merely the result of wrong place wrong time. In any other household it would have been anyone’s game.” He gave a wry smile, but seemed distracted, tired.  


Rook felt goosebumps prickle down his arms. The pestering voice in his head went dead silent as the gears of his own mind began turning. Absurd, absolutely mad ideas flashed through his head. Maybe dying wasn’t his only way out.  


There was another snarl and crash as Tom threw himself against the door. Rook imagined the door breaking and the hulking monster inside filling up the tiny space. He doubted he would be able to react quickly enough to escape its claws and teeth, but he wouldn’t be the target of the mauling, just collateral damage. The vampire to his left made much more appealing prey. The chances were high that a mauling would kill him, but not guaranteed. He could survive, bear the curse, and banish the demon. That flicker of hope twisted in his chest as he fingered the cellar key in his pocket.  


Rook began running the odds, considering the variables. He would have to reach the door and turn the key before Hal figured out what was going on. His eyes were focused on the middle distance, clearly a million miles away, but he would act immediately once he saw Rook move for the door. But say he made it to the door, let out the creature. He was mere feet from the entrance; even a single swipe with a clawed hand to move him aside would likely sever major blood vessels. Without aid from paramedics, he would bleed out within the half hour.  


The periodic nature of the Type 3s' condition made it a more appealing option than joining the ranks of the undead by a wide margin. But as the equation for his survival provided bleak and bleaker prospects, this alternative garnered a strong case in favor. The thought of choosing a life as a soulless thing, entering into a life that celebrated psychopathy and applauded barbaric hedonism voluntarily was abhorrent. Nausea writhed in his stomach as Rook considered his next steps.  
He couldn’t go on sharing his soul with this wretched thing anymore. It spoke and hissed at him to destroy others, to snuff out his own life. It was eating him alive, gnawing at his morals, or what was left of them. Within days it had become unbearable, and the thought of weeks, months, years stretching ahead sent his heart into panicked beating. Cold sweat began to gather on the iron-rigid muscles along his neck and shoulders.  
_Hail Mary, full of grace… ___

____

Hal’s right arm was laying across his lap. In a relaxed gesture, the terrified man beside him rested his own hand on the vampire’s forearm. He seemed to be offering some kind of comfort with the contact, and for a long, still moment, they both reveled in the peaceful ambiguity of the situation.

Rook grasped Hal’s wrist with fingers like fishhooks and tore the arm to his mouth. He didn’t hear anything, see anything as he bit into the soft skin as hard as he could. He felt the tendons tense and flex under his tongue and gripped harder, choking on air when the skin finally yielded and slick copper flooded his mouth.  
Hal hissed and tried to wrench his arm away. For an instant, Rook met his eyes with a deadly calm before grasping again at his wrist, another hand braced on his elbow and tearing at arm with his teeth. Blood ran into his nose and pooled under his fingernails. He sputtered and gagged at the bile in his throat, but forced himself to swallow the poison.  


Losing blood and under attack, his companion reacted predictably, cutting into the flesh above his collarbone with a practiced bite and drawing deep mouthfuls. Rook gasped at the sensation, relinquishing his own grip as the predator shifted to pin him to the steps with the full weight of his body.  


Time slowed to the pace of erratic heartbeats and Rook felt a familiar lurching in his core as something beat against his ribs trying to escape. He reached his hands to the back of Hal’s head, twisting his fingers into a nest of blood and hair before pulling him closer, locking his jaw in place.  
He felt an inky curtain drawing in over his eyes and his limbs became dead weight. What had been a jagged burning was now a gentle pressure against his throat. He relaxed into the feeling of carelessness willingly.  


He’d played his cards and made his bets. Now it was time to see the Devil’s hand.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a tonal shift, but hopefully it makes for a satisfying resolution.  
> Thanks to everybody who’s read and left kudos! Please enjoy! :)

Sun glared through the window and cut across the left side of Dominic Rook’s body. The man groaned and rolled over. He could still feel the light itching at his back, and reluctantly moved to get out of bed. The sheets were an absurdly high thread count considering the generally shabbiness of the cabin, and although he had initially protested, he was currently finding it difficult the ignore the call of the duvet and not fall back asleep. After a glance around the room to source the offending light, he saw that the curtains he had drawn closed the previous night had been flung open. Rook winced at the sun.  


_Of course _, he grumbled to himself as he stood, _of course he would _. It was nearly 9 o’clock, and the man chided himself for sleeping late. It’s not as though you have a job to get to, he thought, but without the vitriol the idea used to hold.____

_____ _

_____ _

He entered the kitchen and quickly took notice of the young woman soundly asleep on the adjacent sofa. Amongst the tumultuous change of the past three months, he was still most thrown by his new sleeping arrangements. It had been over a decade since he’d split rent, and here he was with a werewolf on his couch and a vampire is his bed. Well, their bed. Despite Christa’s constant ribbing, it hadn’t been romantically motivated. Hal seemed to expect his new recruit would be sleeping on the foldout in the living room, and Rook had talked himself into sharing a mattress out of spite. Particularly with the sparse furniture and third roommate, he “was not sleeping on a futon because of some vampire hierarchy nonsense” as he recalled saying. Shouting, really.  


He started making coffee and heard Christa rustling in the other room.  


“Good morning, Ms. Stammers.” he looked over his shoulder in time to catch a dagger glare from her bleary eyes.  


“It’s fuckin’ creepy when you use that voice, you know.” Her dark hair was a tangled, damp mess. It appeared she had taken a shower after reentering the house and promptly fallen asleep.  


“Apologies. I figured a pleasant wakeup would be preferred after a full moon.” He grinned. “How was your night?” He knew he shouldn’t tease, but he was full of surprises today.  


“Fine. Whatever.” Christa grumbled and made her way to the kitchen island. “My ribs hurt like hell, so there’s that.” She took a mug from the drying rack and pushed it across the counter expectantly.  


“Ah,” Rook said as he took the mug and placed bread in the toaster. “I may be at fault. You must have followed a scent back to the cabin last night. The wolf was going after something in the house, almost assuredly myself or Hal, and was doing some serious damage to the door. I think Hal gave you quite the shove to turn you away.” He offered a guilty look and set the fresh coffee in front of her. “You seemed okay on the way back out to the woods, just a bit surly.”  


Christa folded her head into her crossed arms. “Perfect,” she mumbled “Just perfect.” Behind her sarcasm, Rook could hear emotion painting her voice.  


“It’s fine, really. No harm done.”  


She looked up slowly. “This time.”  


Rook frowned. “Don’t do this to yourself, Christa.”  


“Why shouldn’t I? Hm? Because if I can get over being a rampaging monster once a month you’ll feel better about being a leech? Is that it?” The young woman stopped herself abruptly and glanced down. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She quirked a half-smile. “It’s still early.”  


Rook returned her smile, if hesitantly. “Because it would be nice to live with at least one person who isn’t emotionally tortured.” He cleared his throat, attempting a segue. “Speaking of, don’t you have classes today?”  


She glanced at the glowing clock on the microwave and frowned. “Well, yes, but I’m already late. Not really worth it at this point.”  


Rook gave a stern look. After a moment, Christa sighed.  


“Fine. I’ll go. But because I decided to, not because of this peer pressure.” She dismounted the stool and gathered up her breakfast.

***

Rook settled at the small, round table by the blissfully west-facing window and turned on his laptop. He’d been browsing for new employment for the past week or so, and it was frustratingly slow-going. They were currently paying rent out of his savings and the worryingly small amount of liquidated funds Hal had access to. Rook had made the executive decision to manage their joint income for the time being – anyone who could gamble/drink/waste away multiple centuries worth of money was not to be trusted.  


They agreed that finding Rook a job would be necessary for the reintegration he desired, but for the time being, his exposure to the outside world should be minimized. Hal claimed this was to keep the body count to a minimum, but Rook suspected he just liked keeping him captive. Old habits.  


Hal was temporarily working at the minuscule museum in the nearby town as a multipurpose extra set of hands – taking calls, dusting frames, and unfortunately, leading tours. Rook was of the opinion that he could have found a job that didn’t require patience with others (it was in limited supply) but was quickly refuted when Hal pointed out that the vast majority of his CV was moot, and most of his transferable skills stopped being useful somewhere in the mid-1800s. Rook still thought he just liked to have something to complain about.  


The plan was for Rook to find something long-term. Though most of his education and experience was still highly classified, he had the documentation to prove the existence of his degree in actuarial science. Thus far, he hadn’t found anyone nearby looking for an entry-level hire.  


The man sighed and took a sip of his coffee.  


Maybe he would have more luck in a more metropolitan area. Hal was against it, specifically the keener police force and likelihood of more vampires. He was begrudgingly accepting of Rook’s lifestyle choices, but would be embarrassed to be caught dead with him by the vampire public at large. He’d taken to referring to those suffering a supernatural condition – himself included – by the name ascribed by the common mythos around the time they found Christa.

***

She had joined the household around two months ago, as Rook was beginning to pull out of the depression that had clouded his mind since his ordeal. It was always a bit of an affair when someone with a heartbeat showed up on the doorstep, and her arrival proved no different.  


It had been in the early morning, well before the sun, and Rook was sitting on the battered sofa with a hand over his heart as had become habit. He was having trouble sleeping, and would find himself wandering the house most nights. He told himself he was meditating, but he knew he was listening, feeling for his heartbeat. Sometimes he would think he heard it, the softest echo of a pulse, and would spring to attention before he realized his mind was playing tricks.  


One of these spells had been suddenly shattered when someone knocked loudly on the door. Rook was immediately alert, and terrified. Someone had found him, surely, and was here to mercifully end him. The knocking continued, louder, and Rook sat frozen, running through the list of everyone at his former job who knew his last official locations, who could possibly have found out that he had ruined himself to worm out of an impossible situation.  


There was loud growling and something smashing against the wall from the bedroom. Evidently, Hal was awake. Rook came back to himself and stood, eyes locked on the door.  


“Shut up!” came a shout from the bedroom.  


Rook approached the dark room, quickly and quietly. “What’s going on?”  


“Does it look like I know? Just tell them to leave, we don’t want vacuums or Jesus or whatever they’re selling.” Rook watched the form tangled in the sheets pointedly roll away.  


The knocking persisted, somehow even louder.  


Incredulous, Rook stage whispered, “It’s two in morning! What if –“  


“Just get the fucking door! If it’s a vampire, don’t invite them in, and if it’s a human, I don’t know, eat them or something.” Clearly, this conversation was over. At least his fight-or-flight response was overshadowed by his irritation with his housemate.  


He steeled himself, then strode quickly to the door and flung it open.  


Looking back at him was a young woman bundled in several layers of clothes, hair in a windswept tangle pushed back to expose her dark eyes. The sliver of moon in the sky cast a dim light onto the scene.  


The man stood still in the doorframe, parsing where he had seen her before.  


“Ms. Stammers?” he blurted in a lightbulb moment.  


The girl’s icy glare dropped for a moment, replaced with wide-eyed confusion. “What?”  


“Are you-“ he started.  


“Do you know Adam?” she barked. “Adam Jacobs?” Her glare returned.  


“I think you may be confused, ma’am.” Rook could have sworn he had seen her picture on a file he’d studied. An incident with a Type 3, maybe?  


“I’m looking for a couple guys he knows, yeah? Tom and Hal? I must of had the wrong address before, girl was living there. D’you know if they live nearby?” Rook didn’t react to the familiar names. Though this didn’t seem to be an assassination attempt, it could still be a trap.  


“I’m afraid you have the wrong man. Is there someone I can call for you?”  


The girl narrowed her eyes. “I know you’re a vampire,” she hissed, “Maybe you don’t know Tom but I’ll bet you know something.”  


“Ma’am, I think you’re confused. Perhaps you’ve missed a dosage of your medication. If you’d just give me a phone number – “ he reeled futilely until he sensed someone standing over his shoulder.  


“Good evening, Christa.”  


“Shit, you know my name too? Who the hell are you people?”  


“I merely overheard your conversation; you haven’t exactly been respecting some people’s sleeping hours.” By the look on Christa’s face, Rook assumed Hal was demonstrating that (perfect, sickening) smile that could punctuate a threat better than a knife.  


“Hal?”  


“The very same.”  


“Where’s Tom?”  


After a moment’s consideration, Hal invited her in and Rook closed the door.

The rest of the night was spent catching everyone up to speed. Hal explained that himself and Tom weren’t currently on speaking terms, though he does hope he’ll come around in time. He did nothing to explain the thin man now lurking in the corner, but paused and gestured for him to introduce himself. Beyond his name, he didn’t have much to say.  


Christa recounted her journey to their door. She’d left home and been living on couches for a year or so, mostly this Adam character, since his parents left him a plush house. This Adam she spoke of had met a woman named Yvonne – he noticed Hal wince ever so slightly at the name – and they’d taken off, leaving her to find new arrangements. Her voice started to crack when she talked about “the wolf stuff” as she called it – classic Type 3 distancing behavior – and the incident that caused her to leave school and flee town. He remembered now – two boys messing around by a trash chute, killed in a “wild dog” attack, exceptionally violent. He’d emailed Alistair on the subject, if he recalled correctly. Despite the influx of new information, Rook found himself sympathizing with the young woman. This talk of things living inside you, pulling your strings and playing mind games was all too familiar. His mind wandered until Hal’s voice chimed in. “Can we keep her?”  


“What?”  


“I was thinking we should get a dog. Good for new couples.” He grinned.  


“Fuck you” spat Christa.  


“And we’re not a couple.” Rook added, then ceded “But fuck you, too.”  


The vampire rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean anything by it." He continued, serious, "But I do think you should live with us, Christa.”  


She glanced between her hosts, and took notice of the hint of sun edging up from the horizon. The hostility in her voice softened. “Don’t you think I should stay with Tom? He might be more – I dunno, a better fit?”  


In a rare moment of gentleness, Hal leaned forward and spoke. “You can live with Tom if you’d like. But he’s splitting his time between the B and B and his girlfriend’s now. Alex – the ghost you spoke to – seems to be finding a new anchor and isn’t around much, from what I hear.”  


Christa’s eyes lit up at the thought of a half-abandoned house to herself.  


“However,” he continued, “I think that some company that better understands the nuance of your particular situation may suit you more adequately in the long term.”  


Christa was silent, contemplative.  


Rook’s mouth started talking before his brain could tell it not to. “There’s no space for self-pity here. Some may say it’s the result of a lower moral standard – “ He flashed a glare at Hal, “but I would argue it’s simply a more effective way to cope.” He offered a smile, but it looked more like a grimace.  


The air hung still a moment.  


“Fine. I’ll stay here for a few days. But don’t expect anything long-term – as soon as I find something half-decent for a job, I’m gone.”

Regardless of the intensity of that night, Rook looked back at it fondly. The life he was rebuilding from the ground up was much improved for Christa’s presence. Contrary to her initial plan, she had taken to completing her education, making up for her missed months. Yet another motivation to look for employ.  


The idea of working as an actuary, in a job that he could legally speak about, was undoubtedly appealing. It didn’t hold quite the nobility of his previous position, but offered a similar rigor. Besides, he’d always been a more comfortable looking at events, people and all, as data points.  


He leaned back from the screen and held the rapidly cooling coffee to his chest; it did nothing to warm his frigid hands.  
Here he was floating on strange island far from anywhere he thought his life would lead, essentially opposite in many ways. He might as well get around to learning how to act like a real person after his heart stopped.  


With a gentle smile tugging at his lips, the man rose and looked for something to do.

***  


Rook’s earliest memory after returning from the dead was staring out the window of a car. He remembered he was sharing the cab with his reluctant sire, who was currently halfway through a tirade of complaints. He couldn’t remember the start of the conversation, or waking up, which was probably for the best.  


Hal continued to throw barbs at the man in the passenger seat, despite his nonresponse. His body felt strange in a way he couldn’t quite place. Everything seemed louder, brighter, and frankly, more frightening. It felt like an ironic echo of a week ago, waking up battered and bruised with the Devil living in his chest. Now he was in much less pain, but damned all the same.  


“Rook!” the shout pulled him out of his thoughts.  


“Hm?” He muttered as he turned away from the window.  


“Care to explain what you were thinking?”  


“Something had to be done,” Rook replied simply.  


“I thought your death-wish came from the Beast, but fuck, it seemed like it was really you that went after me.” It was difficult to make out his expression from his silhouetted profile, but his rage betrayed a streak of admiration.  


“I don’t have a death-wish,” he grumbled, looking at the car’s floor. He was beginning to feel nauseous.  


Hal took his eyes off the road to give an incredulous look.  


“I couldn’t live with that thing in my head, I decided to try my luck having it evicted.”  


Hal replied with a dry laugh. “Well, we’ll have to see about that. There was a distinct lack of black smoke in the room while you were out. Maybe the vampire killed it.” He grinned to himself, then his frustration returned. “You didn’t answer me: what the hell was that back there?”  


“You know precisely what I was trying to do. You could’ve snapped my neck, or stopped drinking before it killed me. You made a choice as much as I did.” Though his tone was steady, his mind was occupied with the prickling feeling spreading across his skin, the dryness in his mouth.  


“I have _notably _poor self-control. You conned me.”  
__

____

____

__“All the same, the Devil seems to have gone silent for the moment, and I’m faced with this new disease.” He said the last word like a bitter taste.__  


“Oh, mon ami, that kind of thinking is not going to serve you well.”  


“Where are we?” Rook asked, unperturbed.  


___“Maybe you lost part of your precious brain on the other side,” Hal smirked, “Like I said before, I’m getting you some food, and then we’re going to have a chat about what I’m going to do with you.”  
_ _ _

___Rook felt his stomach drop. Hal reached over and placed a reassuring hand on his thigh._ _ _

_____ _

Rook remembered the events of their first stop off the motorway in excruciating detail. He’d never been one for illicit substance use, but the sensation of fresh blood coursing through him, all that life flooding his senses, was far beyond any imaginable high. The sun was low and sky hazy with fog, so tucking the body in the bins behind the petrol station unseen wasn’t a concern. Hal had stood behind the man, holding a hand over his mouth and stopping him struggling too much – he wanted to make it easy for Rook’s first time. As the man began to go limp and Rook felt his rational mind dissolving like salt in water, Hal moved to brace his forearm over his back, completing the twisted embrace.

The remaining car ride passed in relative silence. Despite the chaos of the last stop, Rook’s clothing was nearly impeccable. Apparently, not all his idiosyncrasies had died with his conscious. He was still sorting through each gory detail, some in disgust, some in elation, when the car pulled into the parking lot of a café some miles down the road.  
The engine stopped and Hal turned to face him.  


“Rook?”  


“Mm?” He meant to make a snappy comment, but his brain was still fuzzy. Hal replied with a self-satisfied smile then took a more serious visage.  


“We’re going to go inside now. It’s not particularly busy, but there are enough humans I think it’ll be a fun test. And I’d rather not kill anyone – I doubt anyone will notice your first victim has gone missing – “  


Rook cringed.  


“ – but this would be rather more public a scene, so let’s keep the body count to a minimum, yes?” He searched for understanding in the thin man’s face. Rook nodded.  


“Excellent.”

Hal threw the door open in truely dramatic fashion, ushering his recruit into the cramped space.  


“ _Oh _,” Rook whispered breathlessly. The heady bouquet of the people in the room – six heartbeats, he counted in an instant – was blindingly intense.  
__

____

“Jesus, close your eyes!” Hal hissed, forcibly turning the frozen man’s head out of sight and shoving him towards the nearest booth.  


Seated, Rook looked across the table and blinked several times. The light in the room seemed to be flickering, casting odd colors onto the scene. Hal was laughing to himself. Rook frowned. “What?”  


“Your eyes manifested. Probably should have warned you about that.”  


Rook shuddered at the thought of the dead, shark-like eyes he’d seen so many times before now rooted in his head. At least he’d never have to see how godawful he looked in a mirror.  


“Are they back to normal now?” he all but pleaded.  


Hal took in the man before him, the soft flush of fresh blood under his skin, rising in embarrassment, and his pale eyes, gentle and tired, but no less piercing. He caught himself staring and replied, “Absolutely.”

They got settled with coffees and sandwiches, and Rook tore into his food with a familiar ferocity. Hal watched, amused, as he paused and chewed slowly, a puzzled expression slowly deepening across his face.  


“Are you attempting to poison me? What’s wrong with it?” he gestured at his plate.  


“While I’m flattered by your suspicion, I haven’t touched your meal.”  


“It’s not like is spoiled, but something’s wrong; it tastes like when you have a head cold and your nose isn’t working.” Hal didn’t speak, instead letting him piece things together himself. “Oh.”  


“Yes, I’m afraid this is your new standard. It’ll be less bothersome once you get used to it.” Rook was not reassured by his slick smile.  


For a few minutes, neither spoke. They picked at their food, took sips of coffee, and Rook dug a spoon handle into his leg in an effort to distract himself from his new compulsion. Hal watched attentively, clearly having a very good time.  


“We might as well get around to it.” Rook met his eyes, looking a bit skittish. “Since I didn’t _intend _to make myself a new recruit” he said meaningfully, “I don’t have much of a plan, honestly. Good news is, the apocalypse seems to be on hold, so our extended survival seems likely. Bad news, I don’t yet have anything to occupy my time. Not to mention the fact I’m currently unemployed and low on funds. I don’t know the details of your situation, but I would assume similar is true.”  
__

__Rook took as deep of a breath as he could manage.  
_ _

__“I have a proposal.”  
_ _

__“Oh?”  
_ _

__“Yes. A symbiotic relationship, mutually beneficial, based in cohabitation,” he started.  
_ _

__“Ugh, not this again. I thought we’d finally knocked some sense into your head. Absolutely not.”  
_ _

__“I think you’ve misconstrued my intentions. I won’t force you to go off blood, similarly, I have no such expectation for myself. I merely wish to avoid the wake of bodies and chaos that seems to follow you – us – where ever we go. I took a passive side as the monsters chewed up the world, and it was nearly as harmful as doing the deeds myself. I had every resource at my disposal and chose inaction. And when it came down to it, I was willing to make a monster of myself in order to continue that role. I don’t want that to happen again.”  
_ _

__“I don’t see how this requires my participation.” Hal said, but let him go on.  
_ _

__“Well, I’ve visualized myself tearing apart everyone in this room several times in truly shocking detail, and I’m about five minutes from just hopping over the counter and binging on the staff, and I would rather that _not _happen. So some guidance would be appreciated.”  
___ _

___“I’ll lock the door for you if you’d like. I could go for something a bit stronger than coffee.” Hal replied with a wide smile full of teeth.  
_ _ _

___Rook returned a withering glare. The disappointment in his crystalline eyes was palpable.  
_ _ _

___“I don’t want to reform you. It’s a futile task. And honestly, I’d rather spend time with a relatively well-behaved psychopath than a neurotic time bomb. Call me crazy, but we all have our foibles. I may seem to be handling this well, but I assure you that I’m still firmly in shock. I will no doubt be an absolute mess within the hour.”  
_ _ _

___“Say I do help you with your abstinence mission, how do I benefit?”  
_ _ _

___“I never said I intend to abstain. I’m sure we can figure something out where no one dies. From my understanding, there exists a diverse S and M community in the country, some of whom I’m sure would be happy to oblige this particular taste, if you will, if I can assure their continued survival. Not to mention simply taking care to keep prospective victims alive. A semi-lucid drug state and self-control can do wonders.” Rook plastered on a fake smile.  
_ _ _

___Hal quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought, particularly for someone who tore out a man’s throat less than an hour ago.”  
_ _ _

____Rook sighed.__  
“Listen - I’m offering you company. The Old Ones are gone, you’ve alienated everyone who could tolerate you, and even if you managed to win your friends back, they would never let you be yourself around them. They’d expect _good behavior _, measure you by their own arbitrary standard. They got too comfortable with an artificial version of you, but I never knew that man, nor do I know the brutal despot who slaughtered swathes of countryside over the centuries.” Without stopping to think, Rook concludes, “The man I am now – Devil, shadow, trickster, demon – it doesn’t matter. I’m making myself, as are you. You can suffer alone, drown out your loneliness with hedonism, or get over yourself enough to find a companion worth a damn.”  
__

___Rook ended his monologue and stared expectantly across the table.  
_ _ _

___Hal is motionless, with an unfamiliar look in his eyes. Rook would have given just about anything to know what was passing through his mind in those moments.  
_ _ _

___“Well, Mr. Rook –" Rook smiled slightly at his faux professionalism. “It seems you’ve made quite the offer. As much as you’re an absolute lunatic, and have been a bloodthirsty creature long before a turned you into one, I think I have to agree with you. Let’s give it a try.”_ _ _

_____ _

***

Christa returned to the cabin early in the evening. She wasn’t particularly apt to chat, which Rook respected, but tried to engage anyway. He asked about class, she replied in one-word answers. He asked about her social life, he got groans and eye rolls in return. Her snappy demeanor and dark hair reminded him of someone he had lost, and his heart ached, though less sharply than it used to. He gave Christa her space, watching her fling her school bag onto the coffee table and immediately put on her headphones. It was the most open she had been with him all week. Contented, he went about making dinner.

Rook was nearly done drying the dishes when Hal came through the door.  


“Decided to give cooking another try?” He smirked.  


“According to Christa, I still can’t season a curry “worth shit”, but she didn’t immediately spit it out this time.” Rook said sheepishly.  


Hal shrugged off his coat and approached the counter where Rook was standing.  


“To be fair, you kept adding salt like your life depended on it.”  


The thin man shrugged, leaning back against the sink. “How did work go today?”  


Hal was now standing along the opposite counter of the narrow galley kitchen, and Rook was acutely aware of the limited space between them. He mirrored Rook’s shrug.  


“Nothing spectacular. Things were slow, so Deb closed early. I took the evening for myself, went out on the town.” He took a step forward, closing the space between them.  


Rook could smell the rust on his breath, the lingering dead blood. He moved closer, against his better judgement.  


“You should come out with me sometime, Dominic.” His eyes softened. “I’ll even make sure you don’t enjoy yourself too much, if that’s what it takes.”  


A smile began sneaking across his lips. “It’s Dominic now, is it?”  


“Historically, referring to recruits by last name hasn’t ended well.”  


“I figured I was a bit more than that at this point.” Rook took the initiative to move forward, leaving their bodies just inches apart.  


Hal grinned. “Well, that may be so, but let’s not tempt fate.”  
It wasn’t fate that Rook was worried about tempting.  


In the dim yellow light of the kitchen, he met Hal’s eyes and leaned forward, ready for whatever came next.


End file.
